


Where The Flashing Swords Gleam

by fictorium



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fisting, Knifeplay, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:20:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma's getting a little tired of Regina using her, so when Regina interrupts Emma's dinner plans, she decides to teach Regina a lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where The Flashing Swords Gleam

Emma's trying to chop some tomatoes for sauce when there's a knock at the door. It can't be Mary Margaret, who always takes her keys, and so Emma ignores it. She's in no mood for Henry's pleading, or Gold's deals or really anyone else in this stupid town. 

 

Especially not Regina. 

 

Prissy, infuriating Regina who thinks she can fuck Emma and then throw her out with the morning trash. Who thinks that the Sheriff's station is an appropriate venue for a booty call, any time of the day or night. 

 

But the knocking persists, getting louder and faster and doing very little to help Emma’s creeping headache. Storming across the living room, knife still in hand, Emma throws the door open.

 

“What?” She snaps, not at all pleased to find Regina there, in a smart black trenchcoat and shiny black heels. Her hair is perfectly-styled as ever, her red lipstick freshly applied. Regina, because she is infuriating, looks good enough to make Emma’s mouth water. That’s not something Emma has any intention of admitting. “I’m busy,” she adds. “Making dinner.”

 

“I’m not hungry,” Regina replies, sauntering into the apartment like she owns the place, pushing past Emma in a cloud of expensive perfume. “Well, not for food, anyway.”

 

“How did you know Mary Margaret wouldn’t be having dinner with me?” Emma demands, stalking back to her post at the chopping board. 

 

“Because even she’s not stupid enough to risk food poisoning?” Regina ventures, moving across towards Emma, hands already fiddling with the belt of her coat. “Is that how you’re chopping tomatoes?” She adds, nodding at the (admittedly rough) chunks of red that scatter the surface.

 

“Since you’re not invited, I don’t suppose it matters what they look like,” Emma points out, straight on the defensive as she clutches the knife handle a little tighter. 

 

“Here,” Regina huffs, reaching for Emma’s knife hand. “Let me.”

 

“I didn’t sign up for a cooking course,” Emma protests, pulling her hand away just a fraction too late. Regina pries the knife from her hand and nudges Emma aside with her hip.

 

“Why are you using three different types of tomato?” Regina asks as she begins cutting everything into small, uniform chunks. Her hands work swiftly, neatly, turning and chopping and sliding everything aside when she’s done. For a moment Emma is caught up in the image of a witch preparing herbs for the cauldron, and it sends a shiver down her spine. 

 

“Because I didn’t know they were different types,” Emma says with a shrug, pacing between the cooker and the counter as Regina finishes her task. “Since I’m clearly not going to get rid of you, should I take your coat?”

 

“Better not,” Regina says, throwing a smirk back over her shoulder. “It’s all I’m wearing.”

 

Maybe it’s the way that the damn smirk sends a jolt straight between Emma’s thighs, or maybe it’s that she’s sick of being taken for granted, but she’s in motion again before she knows what she’s doing. 

 

“Stop,” Emma demands, her grip on Regina’s wrist more than firm. “Just stop.”

 

“Really?” Regina asks, leaning back against Emma, hair tickling Emma’s face. “That’s not what you said last week.”

 

“Enough,” Emma insists, twisting Regina’s wrist just hard enough to make her drop the knife as she hisses in pain. 

 

“What,” Regina snaps. “Are you doing?”

 

“Putting you in your place,” Emma says simply, seizing the knife, red droplets of juice running down the blade. 

 

“Why is it,” Regina says, swallowing audibly. “That someone who doesn’t cook feels confident enough to reach for the big knives?”

 

“They don’t scare me,” Emma says, turning the blade one way and then the other, still behind Regina, their bodies flush against one another. Regina grinds her ass back against Emma, a clear challenge. “Besides, you have more control with the heavier blades. Didn’t you know that?”

 

“No,” Regina admits. “I don’t have these ones out in my house. Safety, you know?”

 

“Not the first word that comes to mind when I think of you,” Emma suggests, licking her lips quickly. With her arms stretching around Regina, Emma reaches for the cloth, wiping the sticky tomato residue and leaving the blade gleaming once more. There’s no missing that Regina’s eyes never leave the steel, and Emma knows now that she can carry out her plan. 

 

With her free hand, Emma takes Regina by the hip and spins her around until the small of her back is pressed against the counter. Emma doesn’t give a single damn if that gets tomato on Regina’s designer raincoat, and by the excited little gasp that falls from Regina’s mouth, she’s past caring already, too.

 

“This has to stop, Regina,” Emma says, her voice low now. “I’m not some possession you can pick up and throw away when you feel like it.”

 

“No?” Regina asks, a playful little pout on those blood-red lips. “That hasn’t been my experience, so far.”

 

“Time you had a new experience then,” Emma says, drawing the flat of the blade along the side of Regina’s pinky finger as it rests against the counter. “And like I said before, it’s also time I put you in your place.” She drives the point home by scraping the sharp side gently over Regina’s wrist bone, enough pressure to threaten but not enough to cut. 

 

“Ah,” Regina says, and it’s somewhere between a moan and a sigh. That’s the confirmation Emma was looking forward to, that Regina and her love of danger, her insistence on pushing at every edge she comes across, is inviting Emma to continue.

 

“Wait,” Emma says, lifting the knife and pressing its point beneath the fleshy part of Regina’s chin. “Safeword?”

 

“Same as usual,” Regina breathes, her eyes slipping closed as Emma presses the point a little harder against her skin.

 

“Eyes open,” Emma commands, already breathing a little harder at Regina’s apparent submission. This usually takes a lot more persuading, a lot more work on Emma’s part to get Regina into this headspace, but if the business end of a German chef’s knife does the trick, then Emma is really not complaining.

 

“You’ve got a lotta nerve,” she continues, plucking at the first button on Regina’s coat, pulling it taught between thumb and forefinger. It takes no more than a determined swipe of the knife to snap the threads, and Emma lets the button fall to the floor, their first casualty. “Waltzing in here like you own the place,” Emma adds, pulling at the next button. “Like you own me,” she growls, and another button is rattling against the stone floor of the kitchen.

 

“I own this town,” Regina mutters, her usual defiance not in evidence as she arches into the sudden contact of Emma’s lips at her throat.

 

“You don’t own me,” Emma gasps as she drags her tongue over Regina’s fluttering pulse point. “And you never, ever will. Understand?”

 

She pulls back suddenly, leaving Regina slightly off-balance. Then Emma is pressing the dull side of the knife against Regina’s carotid, making her freeze perfectly in place. She cries out softly when Emma works the flat line of metal in a carefully dragged s-shape down to Regina’s breastbone, tugging at her delicate gold necklace on the way.

 

“You weren’t kidding about what you’re wearing under that coat, hmm?” Emma confirms, nudging the lapels further apart with the knife, hearing Regina’s breath catch as her breasts are exposed to the cool air of the kitchen. At least Emma, in her yoga pants and tank top, is hardly overdressed for the occasion.

 

“Why would I lie?” Regina manages to choke the words out, her eyes darkened with arousal as she struggles to keep her eyes and not the knife that’s resting flat against Regina’s right breast. 

 

“Upstairs,” Emma orders, pulling the belt loose and dispatching the last three buttons of the coat as deftly as the first two. Regina’s coat hangs open now, and when she moves to pull it closed, a soft click of Emma’s tongue is enough to halt her hands; Regina balls them into fists and shoves them into her coat pockets.

 

“Why?” Regina sounds sulky.

 

“Because I’m not the only person living here,” Emma reminds her. “And if we’re starting this? I do not plan on being interrupted.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Regina says, her chest heaving with the hitch in her breath, the tiny pendants on her hoop earrings jangling as she straightens her neck. Emma knows when she’s being toyed with, knows defiance for defiance’s sake, and so she takes the sharp side and scores a line down the valley of Regina’s breasts, down over her abdomen, stopping just above the neatly-trimmed strip of hair between her hips. It’s still not enough to break the skin, but the white line shows up in stark relief, both Emma and Regina staring at the mark.

 

“Really?” Emma asks. “I could cut you, you know. I could make you bleed, Regina.”

 

“What’s stopping you?” Regina challenges, proud to a fault. She will not be bowed, Emma knows. This is not a woman who can be broken, no matter how many times it seems she’s almost been shattered by crueler people than Emma. But she will submit, and Emma knows that more plainly than any other fact she can think of right now.

 

“You trust me not to?” Emma asks, genuinely curious. She sweeps a strand of her own blonde hair from her eyes, waiting for Regina’s response.

 

“You haven’t killed me yet,” Regina points out. 

 

“Then let’s go upstairs,” Emma urges, pulling Regina away from the counter and pressing one of Regina’s arms behind her back in a gentler imitation of a restraint hold, and steering her towards the staircase. Regina stumbles, once, on her high heels, but Emma holds her steady without wrenching or hurting her in any way. There’s just the insistent pressure of the arm trapped behind Regina’s back, until they reach the top of the stairs and Emma brings her other hand up slowly, until the knife is trailing along Regina’s jaw, the pressure featherlight but enough to make her tense up in Emma’s unconventional embrace. 

 

“What?” Regina rasps as Emma drops the knife briefly against Regina’s throat, and then her collarbone, the touch a little heavier now. 

 

“You’re going to do what I say?” Emma asks, pulling just a bit harder on Regina’s arm now.

 

“...yes,” Regina finally concedes, though there’s no hiding the resentment in her voice. “Fine.”

 

“Then take off your coat, and go wait for me on the bed,” Emma says, shoving Regina towards the bedroom door. For once, Regina doesn’t turn back or argue the point, she simply shrugs her coat off and lets it lie where it falls on the floor. Emma watches the sway of Regina’s hips, her nakedness complemented perfectly by the black heels that remain in place; she’s finally learning to do exactly as she’s told, and not just Regina’s variation on a theme. Of all the things they’ve given each other in this strange and complicated affair, obedience somehow seems like the hardest thing to offer.

 

Emma hangs back in the hall, picking up Regina’s coat and hanging it over the small bannister. There’s no ignoring the thrum of arousal that has Emma practically walking on tip-toe, her body oversensitized and aching for the woman in the next room. She forces herself to stop, to breathe deeply, to tamp down just a little the roiling waves inside her. Tonight, more so than other nights, she can’t lose control; not even for a moment. Every movement has to be precise, planned, attuned to Regina’s reactions. Actually hurting her is out of the question for Emma, and so the dance between here and satisfaction has to be carefully choreographed. 

 

In an almost unprecedented display of compliance, Regina is lying naked on the bed, not having paused even to turn on a lamp. Emma remedies that, bathing the room in a warm, white glow that only serves to highlight every line and curve of Regina’s body as she lies there on top of the sheets, biting down on her lower lip. 

 

Make her wait, Emma tells herself, setting the knife down quite deliberately on the nightstand. Stepping back to afford Regina a better view, Emma pulls her tank top up over her head, shimmying out of her pants a moment later. 

 

“Turn over,” Emma commands, ignoring the question in Regina’s expression. Doing as she’s told, Regina rolls over and presents her bare back and ass for Emma’s further enjoyment, which Emma appreciates while slipping the heels off Regina’s feet; it’s not going to be about that, not tonight. They fall to the floor with a clatter and Emma uses that to disguise her quick movement, grabbing the knife and easing herself onto the bed to straddle Regina’s thighs. “Ready?” Emma asks, before pressing the flat of the knife against Regina’s shoulder blade. 

 

“Yes,” Regina says, and it comes out in something like a sob. Good. Emma wants her to want it this much; she wants Regina to need it. 

 

Emma takes a deep breath, silences her nagging little distractions and reduces her world to a sliver of steel and the bare skin of Regina’s back. With a sweeping motion, she makes glancing contact from one angle and then another, always just a whisper of metal on flesh, never cutting. Regina sighs with something like contentment and with each sweep Emma watches the other woman’s muscles relax almost one-by-one. 

 

“Do you trust me?” Emma finds herself asking as the fingers of her free hand tangle in the roots of Regina’s short, dark hair. She presses Regina’s face against the sheets, so her answer comes out muffled.

 

“Yes,” Regina mumbles. A moment later another word falls from her lips, one that Emma is not expecting. “Please.”

 

“Please what, hmm?” Emma asks, but Regina knows enough by now to know that it’s rhetorical. “You want more? Like this?” Emma keeps asking, leveraging herself off of Regina and continuing her exploration with the steel blade, down over the curve of each ass cheek, and smooth lines on each thigh until the sensitive skin of Regina’s inner thigh has her twitching and grinding her hips down against the mattress. 

 

“Please,” Regina says again, clutching at the sheets.

 

“Okay,” Emma says softly. “Turn back over for me.”

 

Regina almost falls over in her haste to comply, and any other time Emma might risk laughing at her, but the ache between her thighs is too insistent and she’s already seen how wet Regina is. 

 

Stretching her arms up over her head, Regina spreads her legs and Emma kneels between them, ready and waiting. Knife still in hand, Emma knows she’s approaching a point where she can’t keep up the concentration, where she needs hands and mouth free to do whatever they want, and so she places the blade carefully between Regina’s breasts, and their eyes meet as they both look at the warmed steel against her skin.

 

“Okay,” Emma says again as she runs her thumb over Regina’s hipbone. It’s impossible to wait any longer, not when Regina smells so good, so inviting. Emma’s mouth is on her before Regina gets a chance to draw breath, and Emma’s feeling a little impatient as her tongue works over every wet inch, dipping inside before seeking out Regina’s clit with firm strokes of intent. “God, I want to do everything to you at once,” Emma murmurs between fervent licks.

 

“Fingers?” Regina asks, her hand grasping for the handle of the knife. Emma watches for a moment, just a little hesitant, but Regina makes no move to actually use the blade, simply pressing it against her own skin instead.

 

“You want me to fuck you?” Emma asks, drawing her fingertips along the inside of Regina’s thigh. “You want my fingers inside you?”

 

“Yes,” Regina hisses, impatient now. Emma can’t resist her like this, desperate and wanting. She slips three fingers inside Regina, crooking them on the first push and making Regina cry out happily. Emma’s working up a decent rhythm when Regina starts arching off the bed. “More,” she pleads. “More, more, more.”

 

Emma raises an eyebrow in surprise, but adds her pinky on the next thrust, pressing her fingers together and gathering them to a point, but it’s still more than Regina would usually take. Emma’s a little cautious as a result, but Regina sighs happily at the extra sensation. She’s wetter than Emma’s ever known her to get, and that’s turning Emma on even more. 

 

Regina’s moans are steady now, coming from deep in her throat while her chest heaves, the knife rising and falling with her every ragged breath.

 

“More,” she gasps, one arm jerking towards the nightstand. Emma understands the gesture, but though they’ve talked about it in heated discussions of fantasies, she’s damn sure she’s not going to try to fist Regina without plenty of lube. Luckily the nightstand always contains a bottle, and though she’s reluctant to withdraw, Emma pulls her fingers free to fumble around for the bottle in the drawer.

 

“You sure?” Emma asks, popping the cap and drizzling the clear liquid out onto her already wet hand. 

 

“Yes,” Regina says firmly, dropping one arm over her eyes. “Now, please.”

 

Emma rubs the lube all over her hand, warming it as she does. In mere moments, she’s pressing her fingers inside Regina again, three at first, then the fourth again, and when Regina starts rocking her hips against Emma’s hand, Emma tucks her thumb in tight and begins to slowly push at Regina’s entrance. Even though Regina is soaked, it’s still a lot of pressure against Emma’s hand. Regina sucks air in through her teeth as Emma’s knuckles press in, but it’s a momentary discomfort.

 

“Oh God, yes,” Regina cries when Emma’s fist is resting inside of her. “Please, yes.”

 

Slowly, Emma flexes her clenched fingers and starts to rotate her wrist. Regina seems beyond words now, her sobbing little moans are enough to spur Emma on, to keep her gradually building the pressure until Regina’s teetering on the edge. 

 

“You ready to come for me?” Emma asks. Regina nods enthusiastically. Well, it’s hard to deny her anything when she’s like this, Emma supposes. Taking her free thumb, she begins to circle Regina’s clit. Emma’s seen Regina climax more times than she cares to count, but this time it’s impossible to tear her eyes away. The pulse of Regina around Emma’s hand is beyond intense, the raw sounds torn from Regina’s throat among the sexiest things Emma has ever heard. 

 

She’s panting when Regina rides out the end of her orgasm, and it’s a long few minutes before Emma has her wits about her enough to gently withdraw her hand. The surge of moisture that follows is pretty much the icing on the cake by that point, and if Emma had the coordination in that moment to high-five herself, she probably would.

 

“Fuck me,” Emma says, falling down next to Regina on the mattress. She has the presence of mind to grab the knife and throw it casually onto the floor. 

 

“In a minute,” Regina gasps, her eyes still closed as she drags a shaking hand across her face. “Oh God, you ruined my new coat,” she blurts, after a moment. “I just bought it,” she adds, sounding a little mournful.

 

“It was not sacrificed in vain,” Emma says solemnly. 

 

“Come here,” Regina says, reaching blindly for Emma’s bare skin. Emma obliges by rolling on top of her. “I haven’t kissed you yet,” Regina says, and it sounds almost shy.

 

“Let’s fix that,” Emma says, placing her lips over Regina’s own, demanding entry for her tongue and stroking Regina’s own tenderly. 

 

“That was...” Regina starts to say when they part. “I didn’t know I could...”

 

“But you did,” Emma says smugly. “Oh,” she sighs as Regina’s fingers slip between Emma’s legs. “Not too exhausted?” She asks.

 

“For this?” Regina asks, scandalized by the question. “Never.”

 

Emma’s already close, hell, at one point she wondered if she might come from just watching Regina. But those fingers are as talented as ever, picking out a maddening rhythm to bring Emma to the brink once, twice and another time again before finally letting her come. When she does, she screams against Regina’s shoulder, letting Regina’s arms wrap around her as she comes down.

 

“Mmm,” Emma hears herself saying as she rolls back to be at Regina’s side. “Just gonna close my eyes for a minute, okay?”

 

She doesn’t hear Regina’s reply.

 

A minute later, Emma’s blinking awake, finding herself alone and naked on top of her bed. She supposes Regina’s already slipped out, heading back to home and Henry before anyone notices her absence, at least until the delicious smell from downstairs registers.

 

Emma sits up gingerly, flexing the fingers on her right hand with a smile. She pulls on her discarded clothes from earlier, scanning the floor for the knife she threw aside earlier. Apparently it’s gone downstairs to where the food is cooking, and so Emma decides to follow.

 

“Hey,” she says, finding Regina in the kitchen. What she isn’t expecting is for Regina to be dressed in a pair of gray sweats and a Tampa Bay Bucs t-shirt, both of which were previously stuffed into Emma’s messy closet. “You didn’t leave?”

 

“Someone had to rescue dinner,” Regina says, shrugging before returning to stir the sauce on the stove. “And I think we both worked up an appetite.”

 

Emma has a hundred questions at once, not least of all ‘what about Henry?’, but questioning Regina’s parenting hasn’t once ended well, and so Emma bites her tongue. Instead she walks around the kitchen counter and slips her arms around Regina’s waist from behind, and it feels oddly domestic to rest her chin on Regina’s shoulder and watch her cook.

 

“You gonna teach me how you did this?” Emma asks. “Because it smells amazing.”

 

“Wash your hands first,” Regina says flippantly. “But I think you can probably grasp the basics.”

 

Emma peels away to the sink, content to be the one following orders for a while. Her body is relaxed and happy, and judging from the relaxation in Regina’s usually rigid posture, she’s still feeling pretty satisfied, too.

 

“I’m glad,” Emma says, when she resumes her position, kissing Regina’s shoulder through the t-shirt. “That you’re still here, I mean.”

 

“You’re not a possession,” Regina blurts suddenly, her face flushing. “I mean, that’s not how I see you.”

 

“Okay,” Emma agrees. 

 

“I thought if I tried anything more than ‘fuck and run’, you’d get nervous,” Regina explains. “I, uh, know your track record.”

 

Emma winces at that, because it’s too true to even attempt a denial. 

 

“Usually I would,” she concedes after an awkward silence. “But somehow I don’t think so, this time.”

 

“Oh,” Regina says. “Well, the food is almost ready.”

 

“I’ll get the plates,” Emma says, and as she turns towards the cupboard, she’s smiling.


End file.
